Saturday
by november shivers
Summary: Sirius, Remus, and a Saturday. Sap. But it's bittersweet sap. Oneshot, slash.


**Title:** Saturday  
**Pairing:** Sirius/Remus  
**Warnings:** Lack of smut?  
**Summary:** 2,506 words. A Saturday.  
**Disclaimer:** Nothing's mine. Dx  
**Author's Note:** Second fanfiction. I wrote it awhile ago. Sap - but it's bittersweet sap.

---

Remus awoke to gray eyes, a sleepy smile, and a strong arm slung possessively around his waist. He was half-asleep and completely comfortable in this old familiarity; he instinctively burrowed back into the embrace. Birds chirped somewhere outside. He hoped the energy he was putting into not hearing them would lull him back to sleep, but the deep vibration of an Adam's apple somewhere near his temple broke his concentration. "You're awake?"

The other man shifted onto one elbow to look at him properly, but the arm that held him remained. Slowly, Remus took in the details of the room, his senses adjusting to the morning one by one – the warmth, the silence, the content waves of silky sheets and skin. When the figure in bed with him moved, a dust of light spilled past him, drawing Remus' attention away from the rediscovered bed and towards the rest of the bedroom. It was smaller than he'd remembered, but the furniture was the same: one plain dresser from a muggle yard sale, a lamp that was from the farmhouse Remus grew up in, and modest curtains that came with the rent. Remus smiled, but he had no urge to rediscover anymore, so he made to slip the cloth over his head and simply block the whole image out as he rolled back into slumber. Of course, _he_ would have none of it – Sirius shook the sheets out of his grasp.

_Sirius_. More than anything else, the thought of that word opened Remus' eyes again. "Sirius," he murmured, and it sounded even better voiced. The amount of feelings and memories that one word stirred within him was…indescribable? Wonderful? Confusing? He wasn't sure. Sirius was the only part of the room Remus had yet to truly contemplate, but he was also the most vital, if the way he was hoarding the covers had anything to do with it. Remus tried to scowl at him and resent the nudge of sunlight, but it was proving rather difficult – and Sirius was leaning over him.

"Finally. I've waited – so long – love you – been waiting for you to wake up," he was murmuring, urgently pushing away Remus' veil of too-long fringe to examine him. His words were interrupted by eager kisses to Remus' neck, so Remus gave up and smiled happily, hooking his arms instinctively around the back of Sirius' head, tangling within the silky black locks with lazy ease. He'd never felt so well-rested.

"Sorry…I guess I overslept," Remus yawned, his fingers continuing to thread through the hair in apology. Sirius only shrugged.

"It's alright. I've always said I liked you better when you keep shut up, anyway," he teased, the flawless smile more dazzling than the bright sunshine. The comment, however, earned him a thwack on the side of the head with his own pillow. Sirius snatched it away before it could miss him by a foot. "Are you – are you okay though? You were talking in your sleep again."

Remus opened his mouth to say he was fine, but then he paused and frowned, eyebrows knitting together in concentration as he tried to recall the vivid dream he'd been having only moments before. "I did…have a strange dream," he confided, moving past Sirius to sit up. A faded vision of fire seemed just out of reach, but the more he tried to settle it, the more it slipped away. "What was I sleep-talking about?" he asked hesitantly, and as Sirius shrugged again and continued rearranging Remus' hair, he could've sworn he saw a flicker of sadness in his expression. When no answer was given, Remus summoned the energy for a stubborn glare.

"Just…" Sirius began, briefly meeting Remus' eyes, "How you…missed me or something. Don't worry about it. Just a dream." He paused, "Look, I tried to wake you up, but I couldn't."

Odd, because Remus was usually such a light sleeper.

"…Sorry," he murmured, even though he wasn't really sure what he was apologizing for. Sirius just rolled his eyes. An awkward silence followed, until -

"Need me to make it all better?" Sirius leered, and Remus just laughed, glad the mood was lightening.

"You're probably starving," he commented (to which Sirius raised his eyebrows, and Remus hated himself for blushing), "I mean for breakfast. We should probably make something – what time is it? …What _day_ is it?" Merlin, he was out of it. But when Srius just exhaled in exasperation and murmured "Saturday?" in that well known Sirius-doesn't-actually-give-a-damn tone, Remus didn't argue – featherlike touches and quickened breathing were sure to follow.

They did.

And when, between incomprehensible phrases and moans, Remus cried out how he'd missed him, he wasn't really sure what it meant or why it felt so good to say it – but it did.

---

Midway through breakfast Sirius noticed – with a sudden yelp that startled Remus into spilling his tea – that it was snowing. Before he could say more than a handful of words (which probably would've been formed to make something like "What is wrong with you?" or "Have you lost your mind?"), Remus had been stuffed into a coat and ushered outside. Sirius dragged him towards the park like a man possessed, or, more aptly, a dog gone too long without proper exercise. People were unusually scarce on the streets that day, but Remus didn't have much time to ponder it with Sirius pulling him along so eagerly. Their boots crunched at the powder frosting the pavement and kicked up soiled snowflakes. Oddly enough, Remus was warm in the freshly falling snow, but that might (sappy as it sounded) have had something to do with his hand encased in Sirius' (Sirius'! He thought he could die of joy, which was ridiculous, because this was just like any other day). But truth be told, he'd never been so happy.

They reached the park quickly. There wasn't all that much snow, but it wasn't yet at the stage of being soggy and miserable, either – it was fresh everywhere, just how they loved it most. Sirius, of course, could barely contain his excitement. He gave only a wolfish grin of warning before changing to Padfoot and racing off, stirring up snow and sounds of laughing barks, to chase crows. Slowly, Remus turned around and scanned the area for a place to sit. He wasn't alone for long before the shaggy dog (now speckled with whiteness) returned with a stick he expected Remus to throw. As was customary, Remus gave him a dubious look and shook his head before he agreed to it. He threw the stick as far as he could (which really wasn't all that far) and settled into a swing while he waited for Sirius to come back.

It was amazing how much time they could pass this way.

It was amazing how much exercise _Remus_ could get out of this – Sirius made it more difficult with lots of tugging and chasing. Funny that it was entertaining. Funny he'd never even known he liked dogs until Sirius.

He'd missed this park _(but hadn't he been here just a few days ago?)_. On the way out they were stopped by some children who wanted to pet "the nice puppy" and although the little girls weren't playing as nicely as Padfoot and constantly tugged at his fur and tail, he did his usual tricks to impress and make them laugh (partly because Remus, who had seen this God knows how many times, still laughed along). When they'd escaped, Sirius changed back into himself to (or so he joked) avoid further assaults, and they held hands because the park was practically empty anyway.

"Hungry?" Sirius asked, and Remus wasn't, but he wasn't about to say no to being treated either, so they picked out a quaint little café they'd never been to before and found a table in the back while they waited for their orders. It took awhile; Remus frequently glanced at his watch.

"This reminds me," Sirius began suddenly, fixing Remus with fond eyes and a smirk, "of our first date."

Remus noticed, for the first time that day, how Sirius' eyes looked strangely ageless, and it took a minute for him to register what Sirius was saying. "You mean _Puddifoot's_?" he spluttered, and Sirius laughed.

"No, our _other_ ones. Yeah, Puddifoot's. We never did that sort of thing."

"That's because most of the time it was a stupid prank set up by James and Peter."

"Moony," Sirius whinged, complete with impatient sigh, "I'm just trying to remind you of some fond memories here. That's what I'm supposed to be doing."

"When do you ever do what you're supposed to be doing?"

"Good point."

They sat in silence for a few moments and privately recalled fond (and some not so fond) memories of that "first date" – which had really just been a horrid scheme James set up to fool them into thinking they were going to have blind dates when in reality, he'd just been trying to buy some alone time with Lily. Stupid prat could've just said so. Remus chuckled, "He didn't expect it to turn out this way at all, did he?"

"No," said Sirius. He sounded a bit sad. "But it turned out alright, yeah?"

"Yeah." And, almost of their own accord, their two hands reached to link together beneath the table. Why not? No one else was there.

---

Remus decided that one outing a day was the perfect amount, and although Sirius complained, he was feeling drained as well, so they threw their damp jackets to the floor (correction: Sirius threw his to the floor, and then Remus hung them both up and ignored Sirius for a full five minutes) and decided to stay in the flat for the rest of the day for "recooperation". Sirius stopped complaining shortly thereafter.

---

The couch had been purchased in someone's garage and was therefore horrible tattered, not to mention a disgusting, fire engine red. They shared a grungy blanket and a crackling fire while Remus made-up similes or metaphors about the ("dancing," "tickling") flames and called them off to Sirius, who rated them on a scale of one to ten and had yet to give him above a three.

"You're so harsh," Remus sighed, "Whatever happened to those declarations of love? How much you missed me?"

"Whatever happened to your skills with poetry?" Sirius countered, "Oh wait. You never had any to begin with."

Remus didn't even have a pillow to chuck at him, so he was forced to come up with some sort of a retort. "You wouldn't mind if I'd thought up some metaphors about _you_."

"No, I wouldn't," Sirius grinned. _Shit._ "Go on, then. Prove your literary worth." He poked at the fire and the flames reflected across his teeth.

Remus thought for a moment. "Er. Your eyes aren't quite as dark as the dark black coals." He paused. Not enough. "And you're…a jolly flame…springing to life."

A silence followed. Then Remus began laughing hysterically while Sirius exclaimed, "You weren't even trying! Useless poetry books."

"I thought that was quite accurate," Remus smirked, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but a yawn escaped him and he let the subject go, allowing his head to fall limply upon Sirius' shoulder. "I'm so tired. Strange – it's not even dark yet."

They lapsed into silence, but it was comfortable. Remus continued to watch the flames with concentration, although his mind was far away from metaphors. He was content, his head on Sirius' shirt, surrounded by the smell of him, the warmth of the fire. Happy and warm. All of this, and yet, something was clearly Wrong. It wasn't going to kill him if he didn't figure it out. But he wanted to – he wanted to, and he couldn't do it himself.

"Pads?" he said suddenly, breaking the silence. Sirius responded with a grunt of recognition. "What…am I forgetting?"

"Nothing," said Sirius, a little too quickly, and Remus could feel his jaw twitch and tighten through his hair. Sirius shifted to place a kiss on his forehead.

Remus tilted his head to look at him, and Sirius' eyes unwillingly moved to meet Remus'. "No, what is it, Sirius? I can't figure out what, but I know – I know you're hiding something."

"It doesn't matter."

"Just tell me."

Sirius was silent for a moment, but Remus met his eyes with stubborn defiance. _I'm waiting._ Finally, Sirius seemed to come to a decision. He took a shaky breath.

"You don't remember, Remus? James and Lily? ...Harry?"

Remus just stared at him. Of course he remembered them, what did that have to do with anything? They were friends. But Sirius' unblinking gaze continued steadily boring through him.

"Okay, fine. 'Voldemort' ring a bell? Azkaban? Creepy veil thing?"

"Stop," Remus whispered, but it was too late. Every word Sirius had spoken brought forth a quick, horrible image, and just when he thought he was losing his mind, it all crashed upon him in one rocky wave of bad memories. The suspicion, the lies, the deaths, the betrayal, the renewal, the loss, the war, the _silence_ – God, the dreadful silence.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

"I'm sorry. Fuck. I shouldn't have said anything. Fuck." Sirius looked upset, and, far too late, Remus took his hand in both of his and shook his head to comfort him, although his mouth still couldn't form a single word.

Sirius reached to embrace him (because neither of them knew what else to do), and this was the worst, best thing he'd ever felt. "I missed you," Remus murmured (for the second time that day) when he'd been released, and Sirius looked like his heart just might be breaking.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be."

Silence.

"What… what do we do now?"

Sirius shrugged. "What can we do? Everything's over." He smiled, but it was more of a grimace and didn't reach his eyes, "We're over, I guess."

Remus couldn't stand anymore silence, so he only fought for a moment before choking out another, "I missed you," and then a few more, for good measure, to which Sirius responded with "I missed you, too"s and more heartbreaking looks Remus couldn't stand.

When he'd recovered, Remus said, "Guess I always knew I'd die without you." But Sirius didn't see the humour in it.

Sirius swallowed, "Just don't think about it."

So they didn't. Metaphors didn't suit the mood anymore, but neither did tears, so Remus returned his head to Sirius' shoulder and didn't say anything at all, aside from the necessary.

"I love you," he murmured, and he'd never said that enough, never _nearly_ enough, and usually only when Sirius had and with a bit of embarrassment. He'd just thought he was too awkward, too young, too old. He'd died at thirty-seven, and he supposed he hadn't aged much, but he wasn't a teenager anymore, was he?

"Me too. I love you," Sirius said, and they weren't sheepish anymore. Curled within the scratchy blanket, watching as the fire burned away, they slept at last.

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